Stepping Stones
by AnxiousRobot
Summary: Oneshot fluff without a plot or time period. Smiles, cheerfulness, and adorableness all around for C/H. No spoilers.


_A/N:_ _I know I still owe you the last chapter of Loved and Were Loved but real life intervened and then I found that I didn't really like how I had written the last chapter, so I've been working on rewriting it. It will be posted eventually. To make up for that, here is some fluff that I wrote to cheer myself up last week. _

* * *

She had to laugh, really. They were so awkward and she knew it. It was adorable on him however. She liked to see him shy and blustering and blushing even as her own pulse fluttered faster than it ought to be going. It had been six weeks since he had - very awkwardly and couched in all of his melodramatic nature - wondered if maybe she might like to be more than friends, and she had replied she wasn't sure, but she wouldn't say no, and maybe they could let things develop and see how they would go and he had gallantly agreed.

It had been a month of acting perfectly normal in public when going about their jobs and then awkwardness in their nights going over account books and sipping wine. It was a _good _awkwardness though, it was exciting and left her smiling. They sat a bit closer together, and occasionally their knees would brush, and when they bent over the account books their heads would be inches apart and she could hear the steady cadence of his breathing. Their fingers would brush together and her heart would race and he would smile so bashfully she could see the ten year old boy he used to be.

She didn't move them forward though, even though he was clearly waiting for her. She had let them linger for a month, mainly out of nerves. But one night they had no work to accomplish, so they had sat next to each other on the settee, each with their own book reading. And then, Charles Carson, the dignified butler of Downton Abbey, had "yawned" and "stretched" and put his arm about her shoulder. It was so unbelievably adorable that her heart had melted there and then. When they had stood at the bottom of the stairs to say goodnight, she had told them then. Yes, yes they could be more than friends. He had clutched her hands and beamed at her and she was sure she was smiling like a fool as well. They hadn't kissed - too shy, too awkward, too nervous, and all too aware how fragile this new-forming relationship was.

The two weeks since then they had been working out how to hold hands. With Joe she had always linked arms as they had walked along instead of holding hands. But that did not work when you were sitting side by side reading quietly. It was a seemingly simple task with layers of complexity - linking fingers one by one or interlocking hands as if they were wearing mittens? If linking fingers, whose thumb goes on top? They were finally starting to be able to bring their hands together and let them rest without constant adjustment.

Right now his palm is warm and dry against hers, and her shoulder is pressed against his arm as their books rest in their laps, and she is happy, so very, very happy. She ducks her head to hide her sudden smile, biting at her lip. Her sudden movement must have caught his attention because his shoulder nudges hers. She looks up to see a grin matching her own as his fingers run over hers and squeeze them lightly.

* * *

It is nearly four months after they learn to hold hands that she is brave enough to give him a peck on the cheek. It's in the middle of the day, he had stopped by her sitting room briefly just to touch base. She holds onto his hands for balance and lifts herself upwards on her toes. The kiss catches him by surprise, and once again his eyebrows lift in delight as he smiles at her and she can't help but smile back. They seem to do nothing but smile at each other. Does the rest of the staff notice? They've kept their shy flirtations to her sitting room and his pantry, but there are times during the day when she catches his eye or watches him and can't help but to smile. For a moment it worries her. They need to keep this new thing secret, or private - hidden. But smiling is nothing. If they are called out for that, there are still miles of deniability.

She repeats the action every night before they separate to go to bed. There is "Goodnight, Mr. Carson," and "Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," and then he steadies her hands and stoops just a bit so she can stand on tiptoe and press her lips to his cheek and linger for just a moment. When she returns to normal height he squeezes her hands gently, his reciprocation, and they smile before she slips her hands from his and they go up the stairs.

She smiles while she lays in her bed, thinking of him, thinking of them. They've been friends for years. They know each other's strengths, know each other's weaknesses, know flaws and hopes and wishes. They fight. They build up each other's confidence. They are each other's sounding board. That is continuous, what they have always had. What is new, what she can't stop grinning about, is this newfound ability to make him smile so easily. She loves that smile, loves that she can make it appear, loves that he is happy, and maybe, just maybe, she might love him too.

Three weeks on he is brave enough to reciprocate in kind. Instead of a gentle squeeze of her hands he stoops lower, nearly falters, then softly brushes his lips against her cheek, barely there. Her heart is racing, she feels almost giddy, dizzy, like she wants to laugh or dance. It has been nearly, or a bit more than, six months since he had first hesitantly approached her. Six months and they can sit with arms touching, hold hands, drop kisses on cheeks and not much more - and she loves him for it. Loves them for it.

* * *

She drops back down to her heels, but he doesn't stoop forward to return the kiss on the cheek. Instead he looks at her for a solemn half moment before the question comes, "Can we do this properly?" Slowly, she nods, unable to speak. They approach slowly, both of them decades unpracticed. Everything is slow with nerves and anticipation. For a moment, they almost forget to turn their heads but they recover. He is just inches away and they hover there, waiting. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Yes," she whispers, she is as sure of this as anything she has done in her life.

As they close the gap between them, eyes flutter shut and then there is only sensation: warm soft lips pressed against each other, lingering, and then softly caressing. She releases his hands to hold onto his shoulders, pulling herself closer, never wanting it to stop. His palms spread across her back and she is drunk on the taste and smell and feel of him. Neither of them want to stop - they slow, they linger, then almost part before coming back for one "last" kiss, before coming back together again.

When they do part, it is with no idea of how much time has passed. They stay pressed close together, breathing shallow, with dazed looks of pleasure. As she comes back to herself, she can feel her mouth quirk up at the ridiculousness of it - that she should be so affected by something she is quite sure the younger generation would dismiss as terribly tame. He is smirking too, no doubt struck by the same thought, and she pulls herself upwards to press her lips to his again, short and hard.

He laughs. He actually _laughs_ and she can't help but grin at seeing him so happy.

* * *

She pulls back, waits for for the warm "Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," that always follows, where he makes her name sound so different than during the day. It is not forthcoming however. "What is it?" she asks.

He frowns, "Would you think me very forward if..." He glances down at their feet.

She waits, but he does not continue. She ducks her head into his line of sight. "Mr. Carson, I doubt very much if there is anything you would dare do that I would think too forward."

After another second's hesitance he leans forward to kiss her again which she accepts willingly. She can't help but let out a little gasp of surprise when she feels his tongue run against her lips. She feels him start to pull away but she clutches his hands tighter, leaning forward to maintain the contact. Carefully she lets her tongue brush softly against his lips, accepting his small escalation. When he ventures forward again, she lets her lips part for him.

* * *

Most evenings they do not get up to much. They go over the accounts, the menus, the shopping lists, the guest lists, and the schedules. They sit closer together now, bending over his or her desk with knees and elbows brushing, but hardly anything scandalous even if someone did barge through the door. They kiss goodnight behind the safety of closed doors. Some nights they are too tired or busy to find the time, but they are used to that. Some nights they are arguing and they'll stay well away from each other except what is necessary to manage the house, and they are used to that to. There may be a new underlying anxiety when it happens but they always believe they'll be there for each other.

It's not often but maybe one or three nights a month they find the time and the energy to have what she teasingly calls "scandalous affairs". These are the nights where they trade kisses back and forth, sometimes with teasing tongues, he'll daringly undo the top buttons on her dress, she'll just as daringly push his jacket from his shoulders and undo his bow tie and collar. Crises can occur at any time so they dare not go farther, but it is enough for now.

If you had asked him two years ago before this all had started, he would never have guessed that she would be shy in a relationship. But she is, just as much as him. Here, where there is no authority to uphold or position to be minded and they are inexperienced and out of practice, they do not always have to meet each other's eyes, they can hesitate and stutter, and they can go slow. They are old the two of them, well perhaps not old, but the rush of youth has passed, caution and propriety have been well driven into them, and they are in no hurry. His favorite moments are when she is so happy she is speechless and she hugs him tight to make up for her lack of words. When he thinks of how far they've come and how happy they are, he can't help but to hum.


End file.
